Must Love Breeches (43 page)

“You’ve made things quite difficult for me, Miss Rochon. I was loathe to make myself known to you, but I find it is indeed necessary.”

Isabelle stared at the transformation that had taken place. Even Mr. Mendley’s voice sounded smoother and more forceful. “Who are you?”

He waved his hand, “Mr. Mendley, when it suits me. My real name, of course, I will not reveal. Once you have told me what I need to know, Mr. Mendley will disappear and reemerge as someone else entirely. I rarely reveal my true self.”

But she
had
seen his true self once before. She never forgot a face and it finally clicked—this was the “gentleman” who’d interrupted her visit with Mr. Podbury.

“What do you want from me?” Isabelle fought panic and cycled through her options. On the plus side, he appeared to have no weapon. But he was too far away to catch off guard and make her escape. And he blocked the only door. He needed to move closer.

Isabelle hunched her shoulders and schooled her face to look meek and helpless. It seemed to work; a slow smile curved across his face and he stalked toward her. She needed to keep space behind her, however, so she held her ground, trying to appear too frightened to move.

He stopped and reached into his inner coat pocket.

Her lips and fingers went numb.
No. Not a gun. I can’t handle a gun again.

His hand came out. Her silver card case. Relief replaced the bones in her knees.

He shook it. “I know this works. Your presence here is proof. Show me
how
it works, and I will permit you to leave.”

A heavy weight scooped out her insides and fresh chills pimpled her skin. He was the kidnapper. She couldn’t allow this man to travel freely through time. She had to stall. Besides, she wasn’t sure what made it work. Just a simple wish?

“I, uh, don’t know what you mean.”
Move closer
. She shrank back, hoping like hell she projected fear.

“You know very well what I mean. Show me how this works, or else.”

Isabelle tried to look as if she’d found a shred of courage. “Or else, what?”

“I have no qualms in harming a lady, I assure you.” He stepped closer, now only an arm’s length away.

Perfect
. She took a calming breath, forcing herself to be in the moment. Relax and react. She pictured her old Shifu drilling her over and over, and drew on her old master’s quiet power.

“I’m not scared of you.” Isabelle worked up as much saliva as she could muster and spat in his face.

Her ploy worked: rage streaked across his face, along with the spittle. His right arm swung back and came forward.

She was ready for him, though. In her calm state, his fist seemed to come toward her in slow motion. She whipped her right arm up across her body, waist-level, her hand straight and stiff, and deflected his blow with the back of her hand. She twisted her wrist, slid her hand down his arm to his wrist and yanked, her force and his momentum propelling him forward. She smashed his elbow with her left hand and kicked hard into the side of his knee.

The satisfying crunch of his dislocated knee and elbow, coupled with his cry of pain, gave her a momentary rush, which was quickly snuffed when her foot became entangled in her stupid skirts. He crumpled to the floor cradling his leg, and she fell next to him. She knew the next move. Run.

Disable someone in three moves or less, and run, her Shifu had taught her.

But the silver case, clutched in his left hand, taunted her, inches from her face.

“You bloody bitch!” he screeched, his eyes alight with rage and pain.

Okay—bad idea. She scooted away from him, crab-like, flipped onto her knees to stand and get the heck out of there.

Strong fingers clamped around her ankle. She twisted around. His body was stretched across the floor. He hooked a foot around a table leg and tugged on her, scooching her closer. She scrabbled to grab anything to anchor her, swiped for the nearest table leg, but missed.

The asshole grinned and pulled her closer. She delivered a quick kick to his chin, snapping his head back and knocking his wig off. She struck again and busted his nose. His hand released its tight hold and shot to his face.

“That’ll teach you to mess with someone from the future, dick wad,” she panted.

She scrambled to her feet and bolted across the room, through the heavy red curtain, straight into a hard, unyielding body. A scream formed in her throat. She looked up into Lord Montagu’s hooded eyes.

Her legs turned into goo. “He’s in there. The kidnapper. He has my case.”

He pushed her behind him and pulled a small pistol from his coat. “There’s an errand boy outside awaiting my direction. Tell him to summon the watch.”

Isabelle turned to obey and stiffened. Another figure had entered. “Sir Raphael? Phineas, watch out!”

Since the encounter inside had taught her leg kicks with skirts were a little dicey, she lashed out with a quick jab to his windpipe. His hands flew to his throat, his eyes bulging.

“Isabelle, wait. Sir Raphael is with us,” Phineas called from behind. “I will explain.”

Oops.

Dread sat heavy on Phineas’s chest as he watched Isabelle hand Sir Raphael a cool cloth for his bruised neck. They had regrouped in Mrs. Somerville’s parlor after sorting out details with Scotland Yard at Mr. Stern’s shop. The arresting officer had assured him that the rest of the Muslin Makers would be rounded up and charged. Isabelle had said nothing about the silver case, but by the way she avoided eye contact with him, he had a good idea what she planned.

“So, how did you guys know to find me there?” she asked.

“Sir Raphael had uncovered information on Mr. Mendley, that he owned a shop under the name Mr. Stern. We had not expected you, but had gone only to question the shopkeeper.”

Footsteps sounded on the stairs and they all looked up as Ada entered the parlor. “There’s a lecture tonight on astronomy, if you wish to―” She saw Sir Raphael and stopped short. “What has happened?”

They quickly filled her in on their reconciliation, as well as the recovery of Isabelle’s case.

When Sir Raphael left, Ada asked, “Does that mean you will be returning to your time?”

Phineas watched Isabelle’s face, intent on discerning her plan. A shadow crossed her features and she glanced at him. He kept his gaze neutral, certain that to do otherwise would show him up as a cocky son of a bitch. Or a pathetic one. If she wished to leave, he would look like the sorriest fool to show he had hoped otherwise.

She straightened her sleeves and kept her gaze averted. “I-I believe I must.” She glanced at him then, and he hoped to God the ache he felt inside did not show on his face. “Phineas. We need to talk.”

“I believe that is my cue to take my leave,” said Ada, looking at him overlong.

The walls seemed to be closer than he remembered. He eased a finger between his cravat and neck, tugging the cloth, cursing his valet for tying it so tight.

“Phineas?” Her voice sounded tremulous.

He cleared his throat. “I understand why you wish to return.”

“You do?”

Her happiness is paramount.
“Certainly. Say no more, only how I may assist you.”

She stared at him for ages. “Okay. I think it would be safest and easiest for me to return in my own home. Can you... Can you take me to your house tomorrow?”

May 28

Katy,

...I’ll be returning tomorrow...

All farewells should be sudden, when forever,
Else they make an eternity of moments,
And clog the last sad sands of life with tears.
Lord Byron,
Sardanapalus
, 1821

Solemnly, Phineas trudged up the stairs of his house, following Isabelle. She led the way to the room she had slept in—her study.

The carriage ride to his estate had been silent. His emotions roiled within as he debated whether to ask her to stay. He felt certain, however, that she knew how he felt about her, and consequently, he must respect her wishes. He could never be happy if he felt he had emotionally blackmailed her into staying. It had to be
her
decision.

He repeated that to himself to strengthen his resolve. Choice. She must have a choice. He had given Miss Trowbridge that choice. And she had not chosen him. His first steps in his revenge scheme had made it evident he must ruin his name to gain what he needed, and he had wanted to warn her, but also assure her his feelings were true.

Instead, before he even had a chance to explain his plan, he learned she did not reciprocate his feelings. Only his name and title interested her—if unstained. The painful truth was that a woman needing him for something was not the same as love. He had not been enough, then. Would he be enough now?

Isabelle stood in the room’s center with the few possessions she wished to take with her. She set them on the floor, crossed the room, and gave him a fierce hug. Had she changed her mind? He swallowed past the lump in his throat and willed a coat of calm over his skin, over his nerves, over his heart.

“Goodbye, Phineas,” she whispered. “I, oh, God―” She choked on a sob and pulled away.

She was doing it. She was leaving. He locked his knees.
Stay strong, stay strong.

She picked up her possessions and rubbed the silver case, gaze locked with his. Her image shimmered and his legs shook.
Stay strong.

A tangle of emotions flickered in her eyes. His breathing hitched as his will battled his heart and the latter raged through him, but his will
would
prevail. It was
her
choice. And he
would
respect it.

As her image faded, his knees buckled.